Taken
by SeaBreeze
Summary: SM, Oneshot. Miroku contemplates Sango's impact on his life and how she ties in with his religion.


Taken

By Seabreeze

A/N: I wrote this story a long time ago. I actually don't remember when I wrote it – one, two years ago? But I liked it, so I post. Contemplative One-shot. Enjoy, read and review and make a starving artist's day.

Disclaimer: Rumiko Takahashi owns all characters.

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Miroku bowed solemnly before walking up the wooden steps to the porch, and then entrance, of the Buddhist temple. It had been forever since he had entered one, he thought as he took in the strong scent of sandalwood and incense mixed with the sound of the Japanese flute playing from somewhere inside the temple. The temple Mushin and his father had raised him in was much less popular; they used incense on special holidays and played flutes only very, very rarely. Regardless, it was a lot like coming home to him.

When the group had passed the temple in the city they would sleep in, Miroku knew he would stop. To his great surprise, Sango had offered to come with him, which he knew was partially the desire to pray for her father and brother, and partially the desire to make sure he wasn't too alone. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He often took her kindness for granted, but when it all came down to it, she was the most important person in the world to him.

Which was exactly why she couldn't come with him. He needed to think, particularly about her. It had been months since he had promised to marry her, in not so many words, and at the time, he admitted, he wasn't ready for that sort of commitment. As time went on, he felt his interest in other women dwindling. It was the most curious thing. The interest was definitely still there, but a lot of it was focused on Sango. He recalled the time when the catfish demon had tried to take her from him. Even now he tightened his grip on his staff at the memory. How _any_ lowly demon could think to take away _his _woman. . . it was infuriating. She absolutely, positively belonged to him and no one else.

And all of it was such a contradiction to the things he had been brought up to believe. He wasn't supposed to touch women or let them touch him. Well, _that_ one had been thrown out the window the moment he had started puberty. Not with his lineage.

More significantly, though, he wasn't supposed to care like he did. How did the saying go? "Receive the pleasant without grasping; the unpleasant without condemning." That was the life of a monk – care, yes, but in a detached manner.

His feelings for Sango were far from detached. As far as that saying went, Sango and the emotions she inspired in him were quite wrong. He 'grasped' her, there was no denying it. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her, or letting her slip away from him. That was the point, he suspected. Don't get so attached to something that you can't let it go. But he could never let her go, for her own sake as well as for his own.

And oh, how he had tried. He had spent months trying to convince himself that he didn't love her. Months. And he had failed miserably. He had tried to push her away, using her jealousy, but by some miracle, it didn't work. No, it seemed that despite both their efforts, they had fallen for each other.

Greedily so, as it seemed. Sango was jealous and he was possessive. It was comical, really. According to his writings, the Buddha rejected everything about Sango and his' relationship, yet, Miroku felt, they were being cosmically pushed together, and he didn't want it to stop. He felt deep within him that the Buddha was smiling at the pair of them, laughing as they struggled to pull away while gravity so inexplicably drew to one another.

Perhaps, then, it wasn't so wrong. Despite everything that was wrong with their relationship- her jealousy, his possessiveness, his tendency to have wandering eyes, her deep emotional scarring, the fact that neither of them would probably live to see 20- loving her, being with her- it felt right. He felt pure, he felt life's pulse. He would never admit it, but with her, he felt safe and at home and loved. Never in his life had something been more unquestioningly right.

Smiling, Miroku bowed his head and whispered a final, closing prayer, lips moving in practiced reverence. He stood and bowed once more before leaving silently, content with the answer he had received.

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A/N: The quote is real. I learned it in my World Religions class, I have it taped into my planner. Its good advice, I think, especially when I need to mellow out a little.

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